


Please Wait to be Seated

by Phlyarologist



Category: Final Fantasy VI
Genre: Cultural Differences, Extra Trick, Gen, Phantom Train - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2020-11-10 17:29:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20855552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phlyarologist/pseuds/Phlyarologist
Summary: The Phantom Train has a dining car! ... Cyan has some reservations.





	Please Wait to be Seated

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Siver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siver/gifts).

> I was thrilled to see the Phantom Train in the tagset here, and wanted to try elaborating on a great Sabin moment... that _isn't_ the classic train suplex, because frankly, there's no improving on that. Hope you enjoy, and happy Halloween!

The ghost waiter laid one last plate down on the table before drifting away, and Sabin dug in. Why the heck not? But Cyan stood back, looking pale and wary.

“Art thou certain?” he said in a low voice.

Sabin paused, chewed, swallowed. “It's pretty good! I think this might be duck? The sauce is nice, too.” The sauce was a bit surprising, in fact, after years of monastic living. Fruits and peppers all cooked down. He was used to eating whatever he could hunt and forage off the mountain, and you didn't get complex flavors like that. But sometime in the distant past, in Figaro, he'd had maybe a smidgeon of culture, and he could sorta remember the cooks knocking together things like this for visiting dignitaries. “Sure you don't want any?”

“I am. And I would urge thee caution. We know not whence all this came.” Cyan wouldn't sit down, and hadn't taken his hand off his sword since they'd entered the dining car.

Sabin considered. “Well, the train stopped in the woods, right? By that lake. Bet there's ducks there.”

Cyan cast a meaningful glance out the window, at the misty-gray landscape rattling by. It somehow managed to be both bleak and vague. Sometimes a bare tree reared up out of the dark, with thin whippy branches tapping against the windows, and fell away behind them too fast to really recognize. “Thinkst thou any ordinary bird would rest in such a curst unwholesome place?”

“Okay,” said Sabin, although he didn't stop eating, “so what do you think is going on here?”

“I know not.” He shifted a little, and then looked at the spread – for the first time, Sabin thought. Up to now he'd seemed intent on not acknowledging it. “Is it real? Hath it...” His frown deepened in thought. “Substance?”

Sabin shrugged and dipped a crust of bread into the extra sauce that had run off onto the plate. “Seems like.”

Cyan shook his head. “If real, it came from somewhere. And it is an impious thing to eat those offerings made to the dead.”

“You think somebody from our side gave 'em the ingredients?” He glanced over at the phantom waiters, now standing – well, floating – patiently at stations at either end of the car. He imagined ghosts putting in orders for produce. He imagined ghost line cooks.

“In Doma -” Cyan said, and then stopped. “The family altars -” And stopped again. Both times something awful came over his face. Doma was gone. And Sabin would be shocked if he'd had the time to make whatever observances needed making before he'd set out after Kefka. And these wounds were brand new.

Half-rising from his seat, Sabin reached out toward him. Cyan swayed in place, just out of his reach, and maybe it wasn't a dodge – maybe it was just the motion of the train. But Sabin had his doubts. “I was just stretching,” he muttered, to justify himself, and sat back down.

Cyan said, “This... engine figureth not into our reckoning of the world. Perhaps some other philosophy hath it right. Even so, I would not eat of that table.”

“What other philosophy?” said Sabin, contemplating one of those little glasses of lemon-flavored ice. Really high living, here among the ghosts. He'd never turned down food in his life, and today wasn't gonna be the day, but he wanted to keep Cyan talking. It seemed better that way.

“In other lands some say that to accept the food of the dead is to dwell with them forever, knowing no peace. In yet other tales, such magical fare sateth no hunger nor slaketh no thirst, but curseth one to waste away ever wanting more of the same. Or if these be not the dead in truth, but fey creatures wreaking some imposture -” He stopped, looking at Sabin, who was looking at potatoes. “Thou art unperturbed,” he said, half in judgment and half concern.

“I mean, I'm already committed.”

“If there seems some enchantment afoot, I shall do what I can to pull thee away.”

“Hey, thanks.” He went back to the duck. Having tried everything, that was definitely the best. Cyan wavered, as if wondering whether some enchantment had already taken hold and maybe he should be dragging Sabin off anyway. “I'm not worried,” Sabin said, spearing more meat onto his fork. “Ghosts are just people who died, right? So I think nice people become nice ghosts.”

“Thou hast forgot,” Cyan said stiffly, “how many of these specters did offer us combat.”

“Okay, but some of 'em helped us out, too, remember?”

“And embraced our enemies, and vanished with them into some untold dark. Aye, I recall that sight.”

Sabin shrugged, uneasy. Even he had to admit that'd been a little spooky. And a little sad, the calm resignation they showed, drifting silently to the end. If they were already dead, what did it mean when they winked out like that? Where were they going? “I don't have all the answers. I just know we're guests here. And. Y'know. Hospitality and stuff. Maybe other places have ideas about ghost food, but where I grew up, we have a whole lot of rules about how you treat people in your house. I don't think anybody's gonna fight us while we're in this car. You can sit down, if you want.”

“I thank thee, no. Guests we may be, but of no expected kind. If we have been mistaken for passengers, we shall not be gladly suffered to leave.”

“Maybe. But if we've got another fight on our hands, shouldn't we rest up while we can?”

But Cyan didn't seem to be listening. He was staring at Sabin intently, looking puzzled, and at last said, “I have been remiss – I have not asked thee. From whence dost thou hail?”

“Oh! Yeah, I shoulda said. I'm from Figaro originally. See, since the desert's so dangerous, you gotta help travelers out. Make 'em comfortable, give 'em whatever they need while they're under your roof. 'Cause you never know when you might need the same, right? One unexpected sandstorm – hey, what are you doing?”

Cyan had dropped into a deep bow. “Forgive me, Highness. I have failed in the courtesy due you.”

“Nah, get up, it's no big deal.”

Cyan straightened, looking baffled and embarrassed. “But art – are you not that Sabin who is brother to the King of Figaro? Though I did not think to meet you, still should I have –”

Sabin sighed. “Yeah, that's me, but don't worry about it. You can bow to Edgar all you want when we meet up with the others, but I walked away from that stuff.” Was it really so much to hope that after ten years, some of the fuss would've died down? He wasn't even really the same person he'd been then. “I'm your friend, okay? No bowing. And you can keep doing the 'thou' thing if you want.”

“Oh.” Cyan blinked a few times in confusion. “Thou – you– ah, thou... I am honored.”

“No prob. I'm just some guy, really. You sure you don't want those dumplings?”

“Quite.”

“Last chance.”

“I had rather thou wouldst not, either -”

“Sorry, not happening. I'm way too hungry.” He slid the platter of dumplings over in front of his seat. “But do me a favor?”

“Name it.”

“At least sit down, if you're not gonna eat anything. You look like you're gonna fall over.”

With obvious reluctance, Cyan pulled out a chair and sat down. The instant he did, it was like the weight of everything he'd been carrying slammed down on him at once. He looked worn-down, and empty, and old. It almost hurt even to look at him.

At length he said, “Thy arguments show merit, Sir Sabin. But – still will I abstain. There are matters too important to risk. Were I to perish, or be cursed to remain here... no. I have not earned any right to quit this world. I shall never die but that I take that hound Kefka with me, and as many common Imperial villains beside as have an appetite for steel. This I vow.” His voice had grown harsh. “I will teach them oblivion.”

Sabin nodded somberly. “Okay.” When he reached out this time, his hand descended firmly on Cyan's forearm; there was no flinch. “I'll help.”


End file.
